


Mirror Stories

by Berseker



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gender or Sex Swap, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berseker/pseuds/Berseker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's such a silly kid, but so, so pretty, isn't he? Say what, a servant boy dancing in the palace? And what the hell is up with your mom anyway, selling you over to a beast? New takes on the traditional fairytales (and some not traditional ones).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day they come back to find him on the floor - again - and are forced to cut off silk threads from his neck and revive him with cold water and one or two hard slaps, again, they finally sit him down to have a serious grown-up talk.  
Again.  
It’s not as easy as it sounds, because he’s still shaken from the almost-dying experience, since it doesn’t become easier with practice, apparently, and they’re sorry for him, they truly are. But this bullshit has to stop.   
“Now tell me,” Rosa says, “What was the last thing we told you before leaving this morning?”  
“That I wasn’t supposed to open the door,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but her face. Rosa holds his chin, lifts his face so she can glare properly.  
“And if you remember, then why did you-”  
“It was an old man, and he needed help, that’s all! You know how hot it gets outside, and I thought he’d just wanted to rest. I didn’t mean to get killed. Are you mad at me?”  
He’s pouting now. Rosa can’t stand when he pouts. The kid is just too beautiful, too innocent, too goddamn stupid for his own good.   
“I’m not mad, I just-”  
And then Blau interrupts her.  
“Oh no you won’t. Stop coddling him, that’s why he keeps acting like that. Listen, kid, the next time you invite someone you don’t know-”  
She pauses. Everyone waits. Even Rosa is curious.   
Everyone knows they won’t kick him out.  
“-I’ll put you over my knee and then you won’t be sitting for a week, I swear to God.”  
He pouts harder. He believes it, they can see it in his eyes, the stupid kid is taller than her, and could… well, not take her on a fight, but surely he could outrun her, right? And yet he sulks and looks away, and he’s ashamed and feeling guilty for the attack and it breaks everyone’s heart.  
“You’re just a stupid baby,” Blau says, still gruff, but now there’s affection there too and he picks it up, because his face softens.  
“I’m not a baby,” he says. Then, after a moment, he adds, “And I’m not stupid either. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”  
So earnest and sincere.   
They don’t believe a word of it.

 

They go through it again the next morning, before leaving to the mine.   
“Now remember,” Rosa says, “No one ever comes here. No one. Just us and your murderous stepfather. So if you see anyone who isn’t us, be that an old man, a talking animal, a creepy child, a cute lady selling vacuum cleaners, it’s safe to assume it’s that guy in disguise.”  
“Got it,” he says, cheerfully as ever. He kisses them on their way out, Rosa and then Blau, and Dunkelblau and Hellblau and Gelb and Grau and then Lila is the last. She’s always the last. She holds his hand.  
“We just care a lot about you,” she says. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. He beams at her.  
“I know, I know. I won’t open the door, I promise.”  
She thinks about how parched his hands are, dry and calloused from working all day in the palace, everyday every week every month every year, for so many long, long years. He’s still waiting, a little curious now, so she pats his hand and gets her kiss and then leaves with her sisters.  
“So,” Blau says, “Place your bets, ladies, will be he alive when we come home?”  
“With any luck, his princess will come soon? And then carry him away, somewhere that creep can’t reach him.”  
They don’t answer. No one wants to think too hard about that.  
“Say we tie him to a chair,” Grau says later, and then she giggles, “Not that it would make much difference. But then at least the evil king would have to climb the window, instead of just waltzing in.”  
“It’s not funny,” Rosa says, flatly.  
They don’t think it is. They know it’s not. They think about him standing at the door, waving.   
“Stupid kid,” someone grumbles, and the others all sigh. 

 

So, question:  
How long does it take him to open the door to the evil stepfather again?  
The answer is: three days.   
It’s when the miners decide to throw him a birthday party, because he says he never had one since his mother died, and that was when he was a little child.   
They think he’s a little child now, but most of them are somewhere around a hundred years, and Rosa is older than two hundreds, so they know they’re a little biased on that. And thirteen is an important milestone, for humans. It marks the moment when he ceases to be a boy and becomes a man.  
Hopefully.   
He doesn’t look any older when the big day arrives. Or wiser. Or stronger. Or anything.   
Just a little happier. And that’s all that matters.   
“For the love of everything holy, don’t open the door, alright? We’ll try to come home earlier. It’s only a few hours, just- please. You promise?”  
“Okay,” he says, and he’s so ridiculously pretty when he’s grinning like that, his face is all alight.   
So they go, and he waves and goes back inside to bake himself a cake and pies and every kind of sweet thing he can think of, and that’s when someone knocks.   
He is a dutiful kid, so he doesn’t open. The person walks around the house and greets him through the window.  
“I’m sorry,” he says, polite in case is someone completely innocent who just happened to walk by, “I can’t open the door, or talk to you.”  
“It’s alright,” the old man says. He has a nice face, like a kind grandfather would have. “Could you give me some water, then? I’ll be on my way right after.”  
The boy fills a jug and give him through the window.   
“It’s just that nobody really knows this place,” he explains, “And so the only visitors we have are either my stepfather or someone he sent to kill me.”  
“Why would anyone wants to kill you? Did you commit a crime?”  
“No,” he says, “I don’t know why. He just hates me.”  
“Too sad, that is. ‘Suppose it happens sometimes. But more people know about you then you think. I heard it in the village nearby.”  
“You did?”  
“They all know you’re here. A lovely child, they say, living with the miner sisters.”  
“It must be someone else,” he says, intrigued, “I’m not a child. I’m turning thirteen today.”  
“A lovely young man, then,” the grandfather says, smoothly as anything, “So it’s your birthday, yes? Maybe I could give you a gift, then? As a thank you for your kindness.”  
“I don’t know… they said I shouldn’t accept anything from anyone…”  
“It’s nothing harmful in any way. Here.”  
It’s a comb. A nice, fancy looking one, black and silvery, and it looks expensive.  
“I was going to sell it,” the man says, “But I want you to have it.”  
The boy is touched, too. He can’t help it.   
“It’s the first time someone gives me something in years”, he says, shyly. The man smiles at him.  
So he tries the comb, even if he shouldn’t, because he’s in the kitchen.   
So it prickles, as combs are wont to do, because the teeth are sharper than they look.   
So he feels very weird for a long second, then he feels his head hit the floor, then he doesn’t feel anything. 

 

The door is not even locked, the old man finds out. He pushes it open and goes to the kitchen and lifts the boy’s arm and checks his pulse. Presses light fingers against his throat.   
Nothing anywhere.  
He’s not grinning when he leaves. It feels good, he’s not going to lie, it feels fucking wonderful, but-  
-it’s crazy how beautiful that stupid kid looks, even dead. Downright infuriating.


	2. Semantics

“You believe you’d have it better in other houses,” his half-brothers tell him, “But we don’t beat you and we don’t starve you, and if you could see how others treat their servants you’d show more gratitude.”  
“I am grateful,” he says, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”  
“Word harder. Then maybe you’ll find time to wash, too. You smell like ashes.”  
He was insulted, when it became a nickname. Now he’s used to it. 

 

When mother died, his stepfather told him he had to earn his keep. You’ll wait on me and my sons, and do whatever task I tell you to do, he said, and your payment will be a place to stay and food and clothes.  
But the chores had multiplied, and every night he went to bed knowing there were five or six tasks piled up for tomorrow morning.   
“Work harder,” they told him, “Maybe it will pay off in the end. Work harder, maybe you’ll find someone who pays you better than we do and doesn’t mind the bad service. Work harder, maybe you’ll find a rich wife who doesn’t mind marrying outside her class. Work harder.”  
If he complained, the answer was always the same. There’s the door. Leave when you want to, and then don’t come back. A few days begging for work from strangers will teach you better manners.  
So nowadays he gets up earlier. 

 

He wasn’t expecting to talk to anyone, at the ball. All he wanted was to go, just to prove he could. And now he’s here, looking nice enough to blend in, but not fancy enough to stand out, even if everyone else is way to colorful and he’s the only one in silver. He never saw shoes made of silver before. He doesn’t even want to think how dirty those things will get.   
So he’s all by himself, trying to stay out of stepfather’s way, paying attention to the clock. He finds a place to seat near the water mirror, when she comes to him and says hello.  
He freezes for half a second. Hoping she won’t see him if he stays still enough.  
“Hello.” Another half-second, and he adds, “My lady.”  
“You didn’t come to the greeting line,” she tells him, “So I came to greet you. Unless you’re enjoying your solitude, then I’ll go back to the ballroom.”  
“No, no, your highness, I’m not- I mean, I was enjoying it, but not like- I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t join the line, I hope I didn’t offend you.”  
“No, it just made me curious. You’re the only one not trying to catch my attention.”  
She doesn’t sound upset, so he replies:  
“It didn’t even cross my mind, your highness. Everyone else here is… high above me, and I didn’t want to presume.”  
“How ironic that you got it without trying. My attention, I mean.”  
She smiles, and now he is presuming, and hating himself for it. Still - just say he charms the princess. Just say she likes him, just say she picks him from her pool of suitors. Just say he gets to leave the house and sleep in once in a while, say he gets a fireplace in his room. Just say he never sleeps again in the ashes to keep warm.  
Just says he’s being an idiot.  
“Your clothes are interesting. I’m not even sure I recognize the fabric, and I see you decked in silver. That can’t be cheap. So why do you say they’re above you? False modesty?”  
“Ah- no, my lady, not at all, those things are a lot cheaper than you think. I dare to say, I didn’t pay anything for them at all, and I’m not sure I can say they’re mine.”  
She waits. He waits, too.  
“A riddle,” she says, appreciatively, “Was it a gift from your parents?”  
“No.”  
“From someone else?”  
“Well… yes. But I’m not sure I can call it a gift.”  
“You must return it?’  
“No.”  
She looks pleased.  
“Don’t tell me the answer. I’ll think about it, and when I solve it I’ll let you know. Do you dance?”  
“Haven’t in a very long time. But I can try.”   
He holds her hand and her waist, grateful for the gloves that won’t let her feel the sandpaper that his palms have become. He leads her through a few steps, and he can tell she’s laughing at him, and after a moment he’s laughing too.  
“Told you it had been a while,” he says, and she pats his shoulder.  
“It doesn’t matter. I’m enjoying it.”

 

“A question,” he says, “Back home we had a discussion on semantics, concerning your invitation.”  
“Oh?”  
“When you call everyone single to attend, do you mean everyone? I wondered if that included servants and poor people too? Someone told me that, since the point was to chose a husband, it stood to reason that only the nobility could attend.”  
“What an intriguing question. I’m sorry, but there’s no right answer, I didn’t even think about it. But I suppose that, if it says everyone, then it means everyone.”  
“That’s what I thought,” he says, and smiles, “What would you do, princess, with a ball full of servants?”  
“The same I’m doing right now, I suppose. I have no reason to believe they would be any more interesting than the guests I have. Or any less. Next time, I’ll send an invitation with ‘to whomever considers himself worthy’, just to see who attends.”   
“You’ll filter in every arrogant creep in the land.”  
“I probably already know them all. Would you come?”  
“Yes. Guess I’m an arrogant creep too.”  
“Then it would be alright,” she said, and smiled at him.

 

“I always thought, if I must marry someone I don’t know, it should be someone I want to know. And not someone who bores me to tears.”  
“That makes sense,” he says, “But I suppose that, as a princess, you’ll have plenty of time to get away, if you end up with someone boring.”  
“But that’s exactly what I do not want. I don’t want someone I’ll try to get away from. I want someone I’ll miss. And all mother wants is a bunch of grandchildren. Sometimes I want to shake her.”  
But she’s laughing when she says it, so he smiles too. Even if he knows it’s serious.   
“It must be nice to know what you want,” he says, “Because I have no idea. I just feel stuck all the time. All I want is a different house, so I can get away.”  
“From what?”  
He shrugs.   
Now they’re sitting alone, looking at the garden in the dark, and the faint sounds of the ball reach them from afar. She waits, and then says:  
“Another riddle?”  
“No, just… something that will ruin everything, if I tell you. And I don’t want this to be ruined.”  
“Ruin what? The ball? The food? My exciting conversation?”  
“All of it,” he says, “Mostly the conversation, I suppose.”  
“Why, thank you. That’s nice to hear, even if I fished for it.”  
“If you had guessed where my clothes come from, then I’d praise you more.”  
“So I’m not smart enough for you?”  
“Princess, this one time I saw rats in my house, and I’ll tell you, I’m sure they’re smarter than me. So I think you’ll be fine.”  
“But now the question is, am I smart enough for your rats?”   
He’s still laughing when she kisses him.

 

Which is when the clock strikes twelve.   
Of course.

 

She screams, and tells him to stop, but she doesn’t call her guards, and he stumbles on the stairs and falls two steps and lands on his knees, but he doesn’t stop. Not even when he loses a shoe along the way, and when at the gate he glances behind, and sees her standing there with the silver shoe in her hand. 

 

 

It’s too late for the carriage, and it’s a long walk back home.   
He gets up when they arrive, helps them with their clothes, and no one is saying much of anything, so after tending to stepfather, he asks:  
“Was it nice, the ball? Did you all see the princess?”  
“Yes,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Maybe we’ll let you come along next time. You could fetch the drinks for us, I suppose.”  
“I suppose,” he says softly, and then bows before leaving.  
He goes straight to bed. It’s a long day tomorrow, and magic won’t get the house clean.


End file.
